Jungle
The morning mist clung to the air as the Banshee stepped outside their weathered hut, the earthy scent of the swamp enveloping them. Tall cypress trees loomed overhead, their gnarled roots twisting like ancient fingers into the murky water. With a woven basket slung over their shoulder, they took a moment to listen to the chorus of frogs and the distant call of birds. Today was crucial; their mother needed coral to soothe the ailin...